


Showers

by nevtelenwriting



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Prison, Anal Sex, Beating, Broken Bones, Character is brutally beaten, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Forced Orgasm, Gangbang, Graphic Rape/Non-Con, HYDRA Trash Party, Handcuffs, Inappropriate Use of Handcuffs, M/M, Rough Oral Sex, Whump, dear god this is dead dove, only kinda, some comfort but very little, use of guns but not that way, use of nightsticks/batons but not that way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 13:57:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20009440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevtelenwriting/pseuds/nevtelenwriting
Summary: Steve, regardless of being a prisoner, still manages to humiliate one of his guards, Rumlow. Rumlow and some other guards decide to knock him down a few pegs.





	Showers

**Author's Note:**

> THIS FICLET IS A DOOZY, PEOPLE. Serious SERIOUS warning here. Rape, violence, bloody beat down, body mutilation, improper use of handcuffs, multiple participants, forced oral, use of batons. 
> 
> This is a Prison!AU where Steve goes to prison and ends up rooming with an international hitman known as Alexei, aka Winter Soldier and Steve kinda befriends the guy, despite Alexei's best efforts through sheer obstinance and spite. 
> 
> This bit is part of a larger story I've been/was working on some years ago. It's been in hiatus and I didn't want this ficlet to be buried in Tumblr nsfw-purge hell. No idea if I’ll EVER expand the plot. So! Have some terrible things I wrote for this AU.

Steve startled awake when a harsh clang reverberated through the cell door. He looked over his shoulder to find two guards standing by the window, incisive shadows cutting off the view of half of their faces.

“Rise and shine, Rogers.”

Rumlow, Steve realized through a half-fogged mind. He groaned softly and sat up, rubbing the heel of his palm over one eye.

“What now? Didn't I wear you out running yesterday?”

Rumlow banged the club against the metal again. Steve heard the cot shift above him, frowned as he grabbed his uniform-issued shoes and slipped them on.

“Hands behind your back. Place them against the slot.”

Steve yawned and obliged, settling against the door in routine position, but grunted when they yanked his wrists unnecessarily rough. He looked over his shoulder and let a smirk curl his lips.

“Lemme guess. You're gonna try wearing me out without witnesses this time,” Steve surmised. “I'm hurt.”

“Yeah, something like that,” Rumlow drawled under his breath, dismissive with preoccupation cuffing Steve and opening up the sliding grate of the cell door. The hairs on the back of Steve's neck pricked up.

Rumlow grabbed Steve by his arm and hauled him into the open hall without preamble, and as the door squealed shut Steve caught the reflection of light in Alexei's opened eyes, watching him from his supine position on the cot.

Rumlow shoved Steve forward. “Move it!”

Steve followed the command and looked up at the other guard, recognized him as Rollins. He typically held duty the same time as Rumlow, and lived in his back pocket.

Two more guards joined them when they rounded a corner, taking up mantel in front of Steve while Rollins and Rumlow walked behind. Steve regarded the other men quietly, Landon and Ward, he remembered—he made it a habit of knowing every guard's name, now. Ward was a young guy, seemed straight from the academy and didn’t yet carry himself with the confidence of the other three. Landon was stockier than the others, average height and otherwise unremarkable aside from snide jokes to and about the other prisoners Steve had seen him make. Both of them were silent as the grave with their eyes forward. They gave each other a look, cursory but loaded, before looking forward again. Steve's hair remained standing on end.

They guided Steve down the corridor, and then another, following the path to the showers. His eyes tracked the hall, over the men escorting him. Each one had a hand either over their nightstick, or their gun. Steve sighed through his nose and kept his eyes forward, hands clenching.

There was a guard Steve hadn’t had the fortune of meeting stationed at the shower along the wall. He immediately straightened himself up, crossing his arms as he studied the company.

“The hell are you doing Rumlow?” He asked. Rumlow stepped around Steve, walked up close to the other man.

“Rogers didn't clean out the drains right,” Rumlow said, the lie rolling smooth like silk off his tongue, “We're making sure he finishes the job.”

The guard arched his brow at Rumlow, and then looked over at the convoy of men before his eyes landed on Steve. He studied him up and down, sizing him up like a hunk of beef in a butcher's window.

He made an indifferent humming sound, and then laughed, shaking his head as he turned and unlocked the bolted door.

“Yeah, _sure,_ you freak,” he chuckled. “Keep it down, n' don't take your grand old time okay? First group comes in at six sharp.”

“We know that.” Rumlow replied with a roll of his eyes, gesturing towards the other men with a tilt of his head.

Rollins and Landon grabbed Steve by the biceps and manhandled him past the door, instinct making him fight the hold with a curse.

Rumlow stepped aside to allow them passage and looked back at Ward.

“You coming, rookie?”

Ward frowned. He glanced between Rollins, Landon, and Rumlow, to the man stationed at the shower entrance. He looked ill.

Ward took a step back and shook his head. “I can't do this. I'll wait out here, alright?”

Rumlow shrugged, “Each his own.”

He grabbed the handle to the steel-enforced door and slammed it shut behind him with an empty, inevitable echo.

Steve grunted when the two still holding him spun him around and shoved him up against the wall with a hollow bang, the cuffs grinding vindictively into the bones of his wrist. Steve looked around the room, the floors streaked with residual wetness, the blaring red emergency lights droning overhead before the power kicked on for the day.

The room would swallow any noises that could penetrate the thick tiles and pipes. The drains would clear away blood. Steve wasn't stupid. He knew a beat-down when he saw one.

Like clockwork Rollins stepped forward and swung hard for Steve’s eye, knocking his vision white. Steve grunted and rolled his head with the blow to deflect most of the impact. When he faced forward another punch struck him right across the cheek, hard enough to crack the joint and make his vision swim. Steve grimaced as he rocked his jaw, groaned when it cracked back into place with a crunch. He looked up to side-eye Rumlow with a crooked smile of disbelief.

“Really?” Steve asked, “Just 'cause I hurt your feelings?”

It was dark in the showers, hardly enough light to make out individual faces of the three men, but Rumlow's was clear in the stark red of the glowing light, the smile that twisted his lips igniting like fire.

He didn't bother answering Steve, didn't engage in the bitter banter they normally exchanged.

“Get him nice and tame for me, would you?” Rumlow said in place of the silence.

The clawing dread was back underneath Steve's skin. He sniffed and braced himself against the wall, palms as flat as he could get them.

When the other guard, Landon, stepped in close enough Steve kicked out with all his strength, his foot colliding straight into his gut and sending Landon off his feet in surprise. He wheezed and clutched his stomach while Rollins cursed, darting forward to grab Steve by the front of his uniform and slam him back against the wall. Steve gathered himself quick enough to butt his head forward, colliding into Rollins's nose.

“Christ!” He stumbled back with his hands braced over the bleeding orifice and now, Rumlow rushed forward, his club drawn.

Steve dodged the first blow, jumping back and nearly slipping in a puddle of water. The momentary stumble offered enough hesitation for Rumlow to strike the tip of the baton straight into Steve stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Steve struggled for breath, hunched over as his vision darkened around the edges, and then the blunt of Rumlow's club cracked over the side of his skull. Steve's legs fell out from under him with the scorching white flash of pain dancing behind his eyelids, pounding like a jackhammer through his temples. Faintly, he felt wetness streaking down his cheek, stinging at his eye.

“Not so cocky now, are you?” Rumlow seethed over the wash of static in his head. He barely had time to look up before Rumlow lifted his boot and used the instep to kick Steve across the opposite cheek.

He hit the ground face-first with a strained grunt, hands immobilized against breaking the fall. He tasted blood pooling in his mouth, spat it out and attempted to drag his knees back under him.

“That the best you got?” Steve forced out, quiet but clear.

Rumlow scoffed somewhere above him, and used the steel-toe of that boot to kick Steve's knees out. He heard the crack of his kneecap overlap a harsh cry of pain, falling onto his side from the blow, and then gasped a startled, pained breath when that club, maybe Rumlow's, belted into his lower back, pulsing fire up his spine.

“Nah, not really.” Rumlow jerked his head to the other men, both of them visually rattled and anger burning in their eyes.

Landon leaned down to grab Steve by the hair, and hauled him up to his busted knees, and held him still as he slammed his fist into his gut once, twice, three times until Steve’s stomach rejected the abuse, heaved acid up and had to cough out the bile. Landon held his head still for it, away from them and it was only when Steve sucked in a ragged gasp did he force his head back for another blow to the side of his face, split his lip with it. The second blow tore the skin under his eye, but he let go of Steve's hair so he could careen back, the impassive cold of the tile floor a paltry relief to the bruises that collided with it.

Steve groaned, rolling onto his knees again, despite aching, adamant protest from the battered cartilage.

“Good. ’S gettin' bored,” Steve gasped, gritting his teeth when Landon's foot caught him in the shoulder, forced him onto his side so he could kick him hard in the chest.

Steve wheezed, struggling for breath rattling in his lungs and he heard laughter above him. His vision swam, cloudy and pulsing black in the corners.

Rumlow used his boot to push Steve slowly onto his back, and then planted the heel against his creaking sternum. Hairline fracture, Steve cataloged to the back of his mind.

Rumlow rested his arm on his knee and beared down, squeezing the breath out of his lungs and making his ribs grind dangerously, the sharpness of the agony threatening breakage. Steve kicked uselessly, trying to gain some leverage but Rumlow only ground his boot down harder, a sharp _“Uh-uh”_ like a warning given to a dog made Steve stop moving.

He looked up at Rumlow with narrowed eyes, couldn’t stop the twisting scowl on his iron-tainted mouth. He remained unflinching even when Rumlow leaned in close and smirked, the slight cut of teeth stained red in the light.

“You should probably see a shrink about this,” Steve offered, rattling the words out with too little breath. He cringed when Rumlow caught a fistful of Steve's hair to wrench his head up, neck pulled taught from the awkward angle.

“You know, I'm gettin' real tired of that mouth of yours,” Rumlow clicked his tongue against his teeth. He scanned over Steve's face, turning his head one way, then another, assessing the damage. Steve jerked against his hold, but Rumlow tugged his hair hard, stilling him.

“You _done_?” Steve muttered, but Rumlow didn't respond.

He hummed and tilted Steve's head back, lifting his other hand to brush his thumb over the gash across his temple. He curled the digit and dug his nail in, pushing deep until Steve bit back a sharp sound.

The smile that split Rumlow's lips didn't reach his eyes, “But I gotta say, you do look real nice covered in blood.”

Steve spat, streaking a glob of blood over Rumlow's cheek. He recoiled back and let go of Steve's hair, a disgusted grimace contorting his face as he wiped away the mess from his cheek.

“Then get to work,” Steve grated out, breathing contempt with every word, “'Cause I can do this _all_ night.”

Rumlow glared down his nose as him, and used the boot against Steve's chest to push himself back up to standing, punching the last bit of air out of his lungs. The red lights pulsed in Steve's vision, the entire room tilting on its axis.

“Get him up on his knees,” Rumlow ordered and Landon and Rollins both hauled Steve up, the cartilage and bone creaking together with a sharp, throbbing twist like an icepick driving into his legs. He tried not to sag against the hands holding him up, but earlier damage made it difficult to put any weight on them. Steve wondered if his kneecaps were broken. He wouldn't be surprised.

Fingers dug into Steve's jaw and angled his head upwards in order to face Rumlow, but Steve dragged his eyes down to the guard's opposite hand, where his palm rested against the handgun in his holster.

Steve took in a fortifying breath, and looked up at him with steely eyes.

“Take your best shot.”

Rumlow arched his brow at him, and then shifted his gaze to his side. He blinked, as if surprised to find a gun there, and started to laugh.

“Fuck no, you martyr, I'm not killing you.” Rumlow took his hand off his gun, instead raked his fingers through Steve's hair in the mockery of gentleness. Steve turned away from it the best he could.

“But god, am I gonna make you wish I would,” Rumlow breathed.

He dropped the hand previously resting in Steve's hair to the zipper of his trousers, and pulled the tab down in the echoing silence.

Steve's stomach dropped to the floor.

He fought against their hold with all his mustered strength but his grip was like a vice, the room still spinning nauseously from the earlier blows. They kept him utterly still as Rumlow popped the button on his uniform and pushed the cloth out of the way. Steve could only watch, blood draining from his face, while Rumlow pulled his cock out through the slit of his underwear, already half-hard in his hand.

Steve tore his eyes away from the sight. He stared up with utter disbelief widening his eyes but Rumlow only grinned, eliminating any residual thought that this was some sick joke.

“Open up,” he said with a patronizing sneer, and Steve narrowed his eyes this time. He said nothing, and Rumlow's fingers started digging into the bone.

“Easy way or hard way, Rogers.”

Steve twisted against his hand, and gritted out. “I'll bite it off.”

Rumlow didn't miss a beat, “Then a bullet goes in your head.”

Steve stared him down, blinking away the blood dripping into his eyes while he kept his mouth clamped shut, until the cocky smirk on Rumlow's face started to fade. Steve felt his knotted insides begin to unwind, only just, before Rumlow sighed.

“Was afraid you'd say that.”

Rumlow reached behind himself and unhooked his cuffs from his belt, holding the hooked end open with his forefinger.

“Get his mouth open,” Rumlow addressed the other two, even as he kept his eyes on Steve kneeling at his feet.

Landon's hand gripped tightly into the hair around the back of his skull, keeping him from pulling away while Rollins closed his forefinger and thumb over Steve's nose to cut off oxygen, unless he opened his mouth.

Steve struggled and bucked, trying to escape that hold until his head started to _pound_ against the back of his eyes, lungs burning, heard hammering, and couldn't bear it anymore. He sucked in a desperate breath that allowed Rumlow's thick fingers to hook into his mouth, prying his jaws apart and setting the curved metal end of the cuff flat against the inside of his lower teeth. When Steve tried to duck his head away from it Rumlow tilted the end of the hooked cuff down so that it dug into the soft flesh under his tongue, pulling a short sound of pain Steve couldn't swallow.

He tilted the tip away from the floor of his mouth and used the unyielding bone of his teeth to yank down, pulling his jaws open wide and Steve was powerless to stop the thick, unrelenting length of his cock from invading his mouth.

Steve choked when the blunt tip of his cock bumped the back of his throat, muscles convulsing around him as tears pricked his eyes. He glared up at Rumlow with venom in his eyes, but all that managed to do was split a vicious grin across his lips.

Rumlow stepped closer, cupping his hand around the back of his skull while Landon's hand dropped, and dragging Steve forward by both his hair and the hook until he forced the head of his cock down his throat and Steve had to swallow compulsively around him to keep from gagging. His eyes _watered,_ clinging wet to his eyelashes.

“Fuck, that's good,” Rumlow groaned and started rocking his hips, hand in his hair keeping his head back while the hook kept his jaw down. Steve's teeth scraped the top of the crown with each pulse of his hips but Rumlow didn't seem to care.

Steve was drowning in the overwhelming fullness in his mouth, the cuff a savage force prying his aching jaws apart so the slick of saliva, blood and come coated his tongue with every rock. His joints were on fire, throbbing in time to every brutal stab of the leaking tip that rocked his body with the motion. Drool leaked around the metal cuff, tears running down his face and likely dripping in a filthy mess onto Rumlow's hand while the rest streaked down his chin. He squeezed his eyes shut when he heard the satisfied gasp above him.

Rumlow pulled Steve in closer, until the entire, thick length of him forced itself past tight muscle, buried Steve’s nose in the coarse hairs around his groin and cut off oxygen. It muffled a panicked sound of protest that vibrated against rigid flesh, his stomach heaving. He swallowed hard to keep down the lurch in his gut, kept swallowing with no other choice but to do so to fight the gag reflex. He was fairly sure Rumlow would rather let him choke on his own bile than let him cough it out.

“There you go,” Rumlow said, a breathlessness to his words that nearly made Steve heave right then and there despite his best efforts. “Just keep working that pretty throat.”

The fingers curled languidly in his hair tightened into a fist, and Rumlow used the leverage to start fucking down his throat, bruising it with each thrust that buried him in deep and stifled Steve's air supply, tears spilling from widened eyes at the sudden onslaught and half-choked sounds punched out with each slide of his throbbing cock. He could hear the blood thundering wildly in his ears, desperate for oxygen while his stomach somersaulted.

A whine or a whimper, Steve didn’t know, he didn’t fucking mean it, escaped somewhere between the thrusts, Steve dragging his eyes up to Rumlow's face. There was no other word for the sound he made, and he nearly felt himself get sick at the thought. This was too much, he couldn't even fight this off, he couldn't _stop_ it—

Finally Rumlow pulled back, just enough to let Steve suck in grateful gasps of air, coughing out the collection of blood and saliva threatening to drown him on the spot.

After a few seconds Rumlow shoved himself back in and Steve gagged again, his throat constricting from the abuse. His vision narrowed black around the edges, starving for breath.

“Use your tongue.” Rumlow chuckled, and added, “You'll choke less.”

Steve glared daggers at him, flinched when more blood dripped over his eye from the gash on his head. Rumlow arched his brow and dug the end of the metal back down, threatening to tear straight through the floor of his mouth. He flinched, and carefully, slowly, eased his tongue out of its retracted position, sliding it along the underside of Rumlow's cock to press it flat. Rumlow retracted the end of the metal from sensitive flesh. The thrusts came easier, but so did breathing, and Steve tried to ignore the morbid, brief sense of relief that gave him. The slick sounds that followed each penetrating stab still made a deep, repulsed shudder rip down his spine, only worsened by the pressure of Rumlow's cock sliding over his tongue. He wished the floor would swallow him whole. He gagged when he hit the back of his throat again.

Rumlow sighed, pausing with his cock buried to the hilt, and looked down at him with a shake of his head.

“You kinda suck at this,” he said, and raked his nails over the back of Steve's head. “No wonder Volkov's so surly.”

Rumlow pulled his cock out, slick with saliva and Steve’s blood, as the other men laughed, and Steve coughed and gasped for the much needed air. The moment the cuff was free from his teeth he backhanded Steve hard, only managing to rattle his teeth with the firm hold Landon and Rollins still had on his arms.

“Get his suit off.”

Steve's heart lodged into his throat. _No._ With his head still pounding, and vision darkened and teetering dangerously he struggled against them, weak and insufficient but there was no way he was going to lie back and take any of this, he refused, even if he _knew_ he couldn't—

A sick, icy dread pierced through his gut when ripped his pants down to his knees and tugged the ugly orange shirt over his arms, bearing him to the cool draft of the room. The sleeves bunched up against the cuffs, but three hard tugs remedied that when the fabric tore past the metal, shredded up the sleeves so that they could drag the ruined shirt out of the way, leaving him bared from his chest down to his thighs.

Steve ducked his head, cheeks burning with humiliation, and gritted his teeth when they forced him face down on the floor, supported awkwardly by his shoulders and knees.

“Now he looks like a proper bitch,” Landon sneered, and Steve turned his head away from them, pressing his swollen, bleeding cheek into the mercifully cool tile floor.

Rumlow dropped down to his knees behind him and spat into his hand to slick over his cock, spat against and Steve flinched at the slick warm that trickled over his hole. Then he lined up to Steve's hole and his entire body froze.

“No. Rumlow—” Steve started but a hard smack against the back of his thigh silenced him. Steve bit down on his lip and drove his forehead against the floor to hide his face; _god, no, don't_.

“It's still sir, kid,” Rumlow drawled, and then pushed into Steve with one slow, penetrating thrust.

Steve didn't scream. Not that time. The constriction in his muscles made it impossible to emit sound. His entire back bowed tense as a bow as his eyes shot open wide and his mouth stretched open, abused jaw be damned. He drove his forehead into the floor to focus on anything but the consuming agony cutting a white-hot blade up his spine. He could feel himself _tearing_.

But when Rumlow pulled back, until just the head remained inside, and slammed himself back in Steve cried out, a shattered sound that echoed off the tiled walls.

“That's it, howl for us, bitch.”

He didn't know who said it, outside sound muted and dull beyond the ripping burn. Every single sensation and thought surrounded how _wide_ he was stretched, how much Rumlow's cock split him apart with each obscenely careful grind of his hips, working Steve open like one would a lover and Steve didn't recognize the sound that punched out of him at the idea of it, though he was nearly certain it was a sob.

“Fuck, you're _tight_. Volkov that small?” Rumlow grunted, a tint of surprise and Steve tried to laugh, he really tried but all that came out was that pathetic, gasping sound. Apparently everyone in this hellhole thought Alexei was fucking him. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block out the stabbing pull in and out of his body, tried to put himself somewhere else, anywhere else.

Half out of his goddamn mind from the cock stretching him wide and the other half likely concussed, Steve almost wished it was true. That he hadn't kept saying no and just let Alexei fuck him. At least then... Steve swallowed another shaky gasp.

With each roll of his hips the friction lessened a fraction more, wet heat trickling down his thighs and Steve concluded, through the thick fog clouding his mind that at least the blood helped here, instead of gagging him like before.

The moment Rumlow deemed the friction eased enough he grabbed onto Steve's bound wrists like reins, and started pounding into him without the previous restraint. Steve released a strangled shout, entire body rocking with the force of it when Rumlow pulled him back into driving snap of his hips by his grip on the cuffs. Steve gritted his teeth to hold back any more sounds he could, wet heat sliding sticky down his thighs with each savage slap. Steve felt tears trail hot down his cheeks. He couldn't blame the choking this time.

“Got nothin' to say, Cap?” Rumlow said, his voice pitched low and rough and Steve bit down on his lip, tasted raw copper.

He tried to think of something else. What he was here for. Open sky. _Anything_. Anything else but this.

Steve lost time. Once the piercing heat dissipated each penetrating thrust came with a numbing, continuous ache, twisting like a dull blade up into his lungs.

He heard Rumlow's breath hitch, snapping up impossibly harder, and _deeper_ , and finally _—_ god finally—he locked up against him, filling him with hot spurts of come that coated his abused insides. Steve swallowed around the knot in his throat; he didn't know if he would ever be able to flush it all out.

The moment his dick stopped twitching Rumlow pulled out with a slick, filthy pop and Steve sagged against the floor, his knees spreading to alleviate some of the weight from damaged bone. Rumlow laughed at that, pushing his thumb over his swollen hole and rubbing come into the torn skin. Steve flinched, muscles spasming around the digit.

“You _slut_ ,” Rumlow murmured, almost fondly, a smile in his voice as he smacked Steve hard in the flank. Other than tensing up for a second, Steve didn't respond.

“Rollins, Landon?” Rumlow called over his shoulder. “You're up.”

Steve really shouldn't have been surprised. He shivered and shook his head in denial anyway, even when Rumlow rose to his feet and Rollins took his position, Landon stepping in front. Rollins hauled Steve up by his bound wrists, bowing his back in a taut angle to dig his shoulder blades into the coarse fabric of his uniform. His pants were still closed, but Rollins's cock was hard through the layers of cloth pressed flush against his ass. Steve tried to arch away from that but Rollins wrapped his arm around Steve's tight around his neck, pinning him in place.

“God, that's good, Rogers. Keep struggling,” he murmured low against his ear, and dropped his other hand down to cup over his exposed, flaccid cock. His hips bucked on instinct, away from that hand but he ended up grinding his ass into Rollins's lap, pulling a ragged moan from his chest. Steve cringed. 

Landon grabbed his chin and angled his face forward, saddling in close before working the zipper over tightly pitched fabric. He freed his cock, jutting up while already leaking from the tip and Steve looked away.

“Christ, you're eager,” Rollins snorted, and Steve recoiled against the hand starting to drag his face forward, but Rollins only tightened the grip around his neck.

“I told you...” Steve slurred, the words more a reflex than anything. If he pulled his mouth open he doubted he had the strength to bite. His jaw hurt too much to try.

“You're still on about that?” Landon sighed. The hand over Steve's cock clenched, making Steve's hips jolt and ripping out a startled gasp. Rollins let go of his cock and settled his hand high on Steve's inner thigh.

“You bite him,” Rollins said, the whisper of breath hot on his ear. “And I'll crush it.”

“He's not gonna,” Landon said with a faint smirk, but even as Steve shook his head, he didn't fight when Landon pulled his mouth open, and slowly fed his cock between his swollen, bleeding lips.

He grasped both sides of Steve's head while Rollins's arm slipped away, pulling him in slow so that Steve felt every inch of his throbbing dick slide over his tongue, forcing his aching jaw wider so that the insistent burn surged back full force. Rollins's hands stroked sickly sweet over Steve's hips, up his abdomen with light brushes of fingertips that made his entire stomach lurch. Each muscle twitched away from the contact, his eyes squeezed shut when Landon anchored his head to start fucking his mouth with slow, deep grinds.

The base of his cock brushed against Steve's nose with each rock, buried deep enough that the room tilted from the dizziness, tears pricking up in his eyes again, but he didn't fight the suffocation this time. Now, he welcomed it. It gave him something to focus on other than Rollins's hands and his mouth on him, setting his nerves alight with each unwelcome touch. Hands slid slowly up his chest, rolling and twisting his nipples between his fingertips until they hardened while the mouth on his ear nibbled at the ridge and dragged the lobe between his teeth. The shudder that tore through him made Rollins laugh into his hair, and pinch his nipples hard.

Landon pulled back just enough to let Steve breathe, the head still between his lips.

“Suck.” A monosyllabic command, and Steve just looked up at him, unable to conjure a glare but not obeying, either. Rollins's hand dropped down to his cock, the presence alone making Steve shiver.

He wrapped his lips tight around Landon's cock and sucked as hard as he could, and ignored the twisting revulsion that racked through him when a deep moan of pleasure passed Landon's lips.

“There you go. That's good,” Rollins breathed, but that hand on his cock didn't move. Steve jarred when he squeezed him, light enough to send a surge of pure sensation rather than pain and Steve choked for a moment, jerked his hips but he couldn't move away, couldn't tell him _no_ around the cock filling his mouth. Rollins hummed against his neck, and stroked the thumb of one hand over the head, while the other cupped his balls and rolled them between his fingertips. Steve choked on a sob around his abused throat, stilling his hips from moving away or against. Despite everything, despite the pain still coursing through every fiber of his being, his dick gave a small, traitorous twitch. Steve whimpered, and it earned him laughter from both sides.

The slow grinds Landon afforded him changed to short, hard thrusts that made Steve hollow his cheeks with each outward pull, and gag when he forced himself to the back of his throat, eyes pricking up wet and leaking while Rollins's hips started rocking against him, the thick drag of his covered cock against his ass tearing out another choked sound. The hands on his cock didn't stop, didn't relent on the light tug and pull, fingers feather light brushing over the shaft of his cock that made the ghost of heat churn low in his groin, more humiliation than pleasure but his dick didn't know the difference, it was touch and heat. He wasn't hard, but it was enough stimulation to thicken in his hands, enough to make tears slide unchecked down his cheeks. Landon wiped them away with his thumbs, likely a hindrance to his hold more than anything else, before digging his fingers into the back of his skull, fucking deeper into his mouth and groaning when Steve gagged, swallowed it back and kept sucking.

Steve made the mistake of tracking his eyes to the side, and found Rumlow standing against the wall, his arms cross while an indulgent smirk graced his lips. He was dressed again, not a hair out of place; merely watching the show. Steve squeezed his eyes shut again.

Rollins dropped one hand away from his cock, and Steve heard the buckle unclasp Rollins's pants, a rustle of fabric and movement that tugged his body. He grunted when Rollins grabbed his thighs, yanking his legs further apart so he could line his dick up to his swollen hole. He clenched on instinct, as if he could keep him out, but Rollins beared forward, letting the head breach his hole and Landon pulled back when Steve groaned sharp and loud. He slid inside easily with the previous mess, a slow, careful, continuous thrust until he buried himself to the hilt, so deep Steve swore he could feel him in his throat.

Steve tried to pull away from the invasion, jerking his head back suddenly enough that Landon lost his grip, but Steve barely managed a small _“don't”_ before Landon grabbed his chin and pushed his cock back inside. Rollins gripped Steve's hips to force him back on his cock, sinking him down on the thick, unrelenting pressure— _too much, god, too much_ —and moaned against his ear, nearly a growl of pleasure. Steve shuddered in revulsion.

Rollins started up a slow grind, the position not affording him much room to pound into him hard but he did thrust deep, almost sweet with his thrusts and with the angle of his hips it insured the head of his cock stroked against that bundle of nerves that made Steve jerk and try to arch away, but Rollins wrapped his arm around his shoulders to keep him still. Held him in place while he fucked up careful enough that the pain was a dull ache and he kept _rubbing_ against his prostate like it was his job. Steve told himself that he didn't care about the sobs muffled in the back of his throat, how he trembled and shook when Landon picked up pace fucking down his throat or that Rollins had started those feather-light touches on his dick again. It was too much. He wanted it to be over. Please, just let it be over.

Landon moaned suddenly and dragged Steve in by his hair, holding himself down his throat as he started _pulsing_ , come shooting hot and thick and Steve struggled and choked in surprise, wide, wet eyes darting up to Landon's face.

“Swallow or suffocate,” he gritted out, his hold unrelenting so Steve did, swallowing as much as he could with it filling up his mouth, dribbling down his throat while tears burned hot down his face.

“God, you're an ass,” Rollins chuckled, and Landon flipped him the bird over his shoulder.

When Landon pulled away Steve choked, coughing and wheezing for breath as saliva and come clung to his lips, blood streaked through the mess and making the swollen flesh wet. Landon chuckled, patting the side of his face before stepping away to clean himself off with the shower head.

 _“Finally,”_ Rollins muttered. The moment Landon was gone Rollins pulled Steve back against him, sinking in as deep as he could and holding himself there. Steve trembled, trying to breathe through that overwhelming press inside him but then Rollins started to really pump him in earnest, and without the constant bruising of his throat, the half-attempted hardness quickly became full on arousal. Steve shook his head, his face on fire while Rollins thumbed at the crown and teased out a little precum.

“Don’t,” Steve said before thinking, and Rollins laughed. He reached one hand up and yanked Steve’s hair back, forcing his neck taught while he squeezed and worked his unwelcome erection, pushing him closer to the edge of want over pain.

“You hear that? Shit.” Rollins rocked his hips slowly, easily so that the head of his cock started rubbing against his prostate and Steve’s eyes rolled. He jerked in Rollin’s hold, trying to pull away again but all it did was send his cock impossibly deeper and Steve gasped.

“Why don’t you come on this?” Rollins said then, and he let go of his cock. Steve heard him spit, and then Rollins held him still while he wrapped his hand properly around him, jerking him at a steady pace that made white spots burst in his vision.

“No—” Steve lost his breath on a gasp, eyes squeezing shut when he teased the sensitive ridge, pressing the slit to coax more precome out to join the slick. Heat coiled low in his belly that made shame burn through his body and sit heavy in his gut. His cock throbbed with it, Rollins hand working faster and it was a matter of habit and friction that Steve felt himself getting close.

He didn't hear Rumlow step forward, didn't know he was there until rough hands cupped his jaw and pulled his head forward, forcing Steve to lock eyes. He did nothing more than that, just held Steve's head still while Rollins played with him. Didn’t say a word while Steve’s brow drew up, his eyes closing on another wash of that achingly good pressure but a hard, quick smack across his cheek remedied that. Steve was stuck looking at him when it bubbled over, his balls tightening up with the relentless touch, fist squeezing around him and working him closer and closer until Steve cried out, watching Rumlow’s manic grin widen as he came, spasming along the pain in rolling waves of pleasure it nearly had him buckling over.

They both held him steady, and before Steve had finished pulsing with it, barely a moment to breathe Rollins braced his hands tight his shoulder and his thigh, then pistoned his hips up hard enough that Steve nearly fell over again if not for the grip on his bruised body. Rollins used that hold to drive him back into his thrusts, pummeling into him hard enough that no remnants of pleasure remained. Steve's hoarse, unsteady cry was barely loud enough to puncture past the slapping of skin, his spine arching at a back-breaking angle to try to escape the savage onslaught.

His eyes shot open wide on the ceiling, Rollins's cock finding its way in too deep, over and over again that Steve was too overloaded to register the pain, just a white-out flash of overwhelm and he couldn’t even find the breath to cry out anymore.

Steve tried to look away again but Rumlow smacked him hard, gripped him mercilessly by his hair while his other hand held him almost affectionately. He watched Rumlow, only a small tilt of his lips betraying any emotion now, as Rollins gasped ragged against his neck, panting damp puffs of heat between his shoulder blades.

“This is where you belong,” Rumlow cooed, almost sweetly, and Steve couldn’t find the breath or the words to respond.

Rumlow’s grip tightened when Rollins spasmed against him, his nails breaking skin on his thigh. He groaned into Steve’s neck before coming in hard, vicious jerks of his hips that would have knocked him over if Rumlow hadn't been holding him still. Come leaked out around the pulsing heat of Rollins's dick, slipping down his thighs to join the red. Rumlow's smile tilted wider.

When Rollins pulled out Steve didn’t have the energy to flinch. The only thing that kept Steve from collapsing was Rumlow's grip, forcing him up high on his quaking legs. His eyes started to roll. He couldn't see straight, couldn't catch his breath past the room _turning_ like it was. He pitched forward but Rumlow caught him in the chest, and pushed him back up.

“Easy there,” Rumlow tutted him, a soft hush easing past his lips as he lowered himself down on one knee, letting Steve collapse into a position that took the weight off of the screaming pain in his knees. He pitched forward again, but Rumlow kept his hold firm.

“Not yet,” he said, and Steve, after a few moments, managed to open his eyes he hadn't realized he closed. They were heavy, and the room pulsed and spun around the axis of Rumlow's unyielding grip.

“Open up,” Rumlow said, his eyes shining with the echo of words that started this. Steve watched him, silent and still, and after a few seconds, he opened his mouth.

Rumlow pushed his thumb inside. “Suck.”

He did. He clamped his mouth around it and sucked, his eyelids too heavy to keep open anymore.

“See? That wasn't so hard,” Rumlow breathed. 

Bile rose in his throat. He looked up at Rumlow with as much hate as he could muster, and bit down on his thumb. His aching jaws didn’t make it very strong, but Steve still felt the give of skin, felt a sharp crunch that made Rumlow hiss out a curse as he snatched his hand back. He back-handed Steve hard enough to collapse to the ground, vision darkening more and more around the edges with each passing second. The room tilted again and stayed that way.

“You stupid, little—” Rumlow hauled him back up to his knees, and Steve wheezed a little, couldn’t open his eyes without nausea spinning his head like a top.

“Brock,” someone said, Rollins, it was Rollins. Steve kept his eyes closed as Rollins finished, “We don’t wanna _kill_ the fucker. Look at him. We’re done.”

There was silence, and in the back of Steve’s head he begged them to just put him out of his goddamn misery, because if they didn’t kill him here, then everyone would know. Everyone would know.

But Rumlow only sighed, close to disappointment, and let him go.

“Alright, that's a wrap,” Rumlow said, and Steve pitched forward again, this time blacking out.

Steve woke up to cold water streaming over his body and shaking violently because of it, the water like needles on his sore, burning skin. Steve’s stomach churned, then clenched, and he heaved before he could stop it, iron and salt heavy on his tongue that joined the mess circling the drains. He trembled and curled into himself, watched with tired eyes as the pink water slowly bled clear, washing away the evidence of what they'd done. Steve felt hollowed out. He closed his eyes past the pounding behind the lids.

They dragged him to his feet and Steve couldn't get the footing to walk, sagged heavily against one of them—Rollins or Landon, he didn't know. By some small mercy that didn't order him to walk, perhaps understanding that there was no feasible manner he could perform even that small task. Even breathing was a battle of will.

“Let's get him back to his bunk.” Rumlow stated, too close to his ear and Steve recoiled from it.

They uncuffed him, and slung his arms over their shoulders, protocol apparently nonobligatory when faced with cleaning up their recreation.

They half-dragged, half-carried him back towards his cell, dead-weight between both Rollins and Landon like a marionette with broken strings.

A moment or an hour later, the grating of metal screeched through his ears, but he was too exhausted to flinch at the sound. He recognized he had to have blacked out again, because he had been dressed in a new suit, this one un-ripped so none would be the wiser. He would have laughed if he had the strength.

They threw him in without preamble, and Steve immediately stumbled and collapsed on the hard concrete floor, his fall barely broken by his hands. Steve didn't make a sound, the crack of concrete insignificant above the fire scorching through his body, up his legs to his throat. _Don’t throw up_ , was the only tangible thought Steve could conjure, _Don’t fucking throw up again._

“Chyort voz'mi,” _(Dammit)_ a voice said above him, and heard more than felt Alexei jump to land by his side. He sat on his haunches next to him, tilting his head to acquire a better view of Steve's face. He rested his arms on his knees and scoffed.

“Durak,” _(Stupid)_ Alexei said sharply, but with a subtle fondness so rare in his voice it made Steve simultaneously want to laugh and cry. He continued on in Russian, _“You really took a beating here. What did you do this time?”_

Beyond the acerbic accusation, he could hear the tease, a private joke that Steve had somehow managed to piss off the guards again. They beat mouthy prisoners, there was nothing new about that. Steve had his fair share of bruises from them before.

Just nothing like this.

He couldn't get his bruised tongue or ripped throat to cooperate, not that he really had a comeback for that. He only managed a weak chuckle that ended in a wet cough, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. Alexei shifted back in surprise and then moved to kneel beside him, reaching out towards his face Steve winced back without meaning to.

Alexei froze before he touched him, and Steve swallowed the iron slowly filling his mouth again— _don’t throw up—_ and tried to get his hands under him, succeeded in that much. The moment he shifted his knees though, putting his weight on them sharp daggers split his shins and he cried out, weak and shaky before they gave out from under him, crashing back to the concrete, bracing himself at the last second with his forearms.

“Steven?”

The tightness in Alexei's voice was new, foreign and strange and it startled Steve enough that several seconds passed before he realized there was _worry_ in his tone.

“'m fine,” he rasped out, but the room was spinning again, it was hard to keep his eyes open without feeling a desperate urge to puke. God, he just wanted to sleep. The concrete was starting to sound like a perfectly acceptable bed.

A warm, rough hand cleared the hair from Steve's eyes and he flinched back, the contact singing fire through the few nerves left unfrayed.

“Chto oni c toboi zdelali?” _(What did they do to you?_ ) Alexei asked, harsh but still tight. It took Steve a moment to link the words together.

Steve shook his head; he didn't want him to know. He couldn't look him in the eye if he knew.

But Alexei had the scrutiny of a hawk, and they scanned over Steve now, using calloused but strangely gentle hands to coax Steve onto his stomach, kneeling over him to assess the damage.

He froze, the hand on Steve’s shoulder twitching before locking up, and then pulling away suddenly. Steve could almost feel his eyes on his backside. Blood caked to his thighs already, the preliminary wash only doing so much for the damage. The new uniform would be ruined. Not that he expected to be issued a new one.

“Please...” Steve said, when Alexei was quiet for far too long. “Can you...help me up?”

He wanted to feel ashamed by the desperation lacing the words. He would never give Rumlow or his men the satisfaction of hearing him like this, but Alexei...Alexei was different. It was okay. He hoped it was, at least.

He looked up the best he could through his swollen eyes to examine Alexei's face, trying to find repulsion at what he had found.

He was only pale, though. His brow was creased over widened eyes, his mouth parted slightly. Shock, disbelief, horror. Steve didn't know if that was worse.

But Alexei quickly composed himself. His jaw set tight as he nodded, and eased Steve onto his back so that he could scoop his arms under Steve's knees and his shoulders, hauling him up with nonexistent effort. The retort about his strength died when Steve cried out weakly, the movement jarring too much torn muscle and broken bone. Alexei tensed up, took his time turning them around so he could ease Steve onto his cot.

His vision blackened around the edges again. He just wanted to sleep. Steve wasn't sure if he thought it, or managed to say “ _thank you”_ out loud, but Alexei's hands were on his face again, clearing his hair from his eyes and Steve winced.

 _“No, don't fall asleep Steven. You've lost a lot of blood,”_ he whispered, quiet and quick in Russian that Steve only really caught every other word. Something about sleep, and blood. He'd lost blood. He knew that. Steve shook his head.

“'m fine,” he muttered again, and Alexei cursed. Then he was gone.

Steve flinched violently when he heard a harsh clang on the door, his heart seizing up in his chest at the sound. No, no, god, no.

“Ey, parshivits, syuda idi!” _(Hey, jackass, get over here!)_ Alexei barked out, rattling the door with his fist.

“Back away, Volkov!” One of the guards called back. Ward, Steve thought. He was on duty that morning.

“Oyobuk!” (Fucker!) Alexei called back, and Steve remembered faintly that Ward understood Russian, _“Come here or I'll make you!”_

Ward's voice was closer now, and he snapped in Russian, _“Back off, and I won't take that as a threat.”_

 _“I'll make it one,”_ Alexei seethed, _“You disgusting pigs ripped him apart.”_

Ward didn't answer, that time. Steve opened his eyes into slits, saw Alexei's fists clenched tightly against the reinforced glass and Ward's perfectly stoic face.

 _“I don't know what you mean,”_ Ward answered, but his hesitance palpable. Alexei smacked the glass, startling Ward back.

 _“He needs a doctor,”_ Alexei snapped, and Ward straightened up.

 _“You don't make that call, Volkov,”_ Ward stated, but his voice was weak, his gaze on Steve. He just wanted to sleep...

“Doctor! Now!” Alexei shouted in English and Ward swallowed hard, then pulled out his radio to call it in.

Merciful blackness took him under.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos give me life ;u;
> 
> Edit: I realize that naming a fic "Showers" with absolutely no watersports was a fucking travesty, I'm so sorry.
> 
> BTW the handcuff thing is possible.


End file.
